Memory
A farm’s green pond is still. There is no air;
The trees, in harder green, are moveless, too.
The morning’s laundered clouds lie on the bare
Wet skin of water where a white canoe
Which brothers left looks green in brighter dawn.
A little later, heat will come and then
A heaviness will stifle the green lawn
So heavy that we’ll wonder how the hen
Can stir the dust and green of weeds for worms.
When twilight comes, come coolness and more green.
The wishful boy, not knowing green has terms,
Will throw a stone into the pond-deep scene.
..The sun will go and green will then be gone
….To sleep the glistening sleep that greens dream on.
An Abbot Remembers his Youth
Annihilating all that’s made
To a green thought in a green shade. ~ Andrew Marvell, “The Garden”
The farm’s green pond dawns still. There is no air;
The reeds, in harder green, are moveless, too.
A chill, slight cloud comes down to lie on bare,
Wet soul of water where a white canoe
As calm as grace looks green in brighter dawn.
A little later, heat will spread, and then
A heaviness will settle on green lawn,
So heavy that he’ll wonder how the hen
Can stir the dust and green of weeds for worms.
Expressing leaves above the pond-deep scene,
The summer tree does not know green has terms.
When daylight goes, come darkness and cool green.
. . The sun will sink and hues will then be gone
…. To sleep the voiceless sleep that greens dream on.